


Definition

by theimprobable1



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimprobable1/pseuds/theimprobable1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when Sherlock gets himself a boyfriend, and how it affects his friendship with John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Definition

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt.](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/9640.html?thread=46151080#t46151080) Beta-ed by [](http://piosa-ceol.livejournal.com/profile)[**piosa_ceol**](http://piosa-ceol.livejournal.com/) \- thank you!

When John turned thirty-eight, his crazy sister Harry decided that it was a brilliant idea to throw him a surprise birthday party. John went to what he thought would be a quiet dinner with his only living relative, and ended up in a room full of people he hadn’t seen for years and who, apparently, had nothing better to do on a Saturday evening than get drunk in honour of someone they no longer knew anything about. John knew that Harry meant well—she probably thought that seeing your former classmates after years and years must be nice—but, with her incredibly extroverted and sociable personality, she had never been able to understand that John _hated_ anything where there were more than ten people involved. He appreciated her effort, however, and tried to smile and make small talk.

Sherlock, of course, hated the whole thing even more than John. It was beyond John how Harry had managed to convince him to come. Most of the time, Sherlock stood in a corner nursing a glass of white wine and scowling at everyone. John was glad to have a chance to catch up with old friends, but he would much rather have joined Sherlock and listened to his deductions rather than talk to people who were almost strangers by now. When John finally managed to get to him, however, they were joined by Jeremy Matthews, who John used to play rugby with at university. Then something very unexpected happened.

When John introduced Jeremy, he expected Sherlock to say something derisive and then ignore him like he usually did. Instead, Sherlock’s face lit up and his eyes narrowed, and he shook Jeremy’s hand firmly. It turned out that Jeremy Matthews was one of Britain’s leading biochemists, which John had either forgotten or never known, and Sherlock had just read his most recent article in a journal and greatly admired his work. John was then distracted by a new group of well-wishers, and when he rejoined Sherlock and Jeremy, they were having an animated discussion about nucleic acids.

That Sherlock should meet someone he considered intelligent enough to grace with his attention, at a party organised by Harry no less, was completely unbelievable, but matters escalated when Jeremy offered Sherlock the use of his laboratory to perform experiments, which Sherlock readily accepted.

This had the pleasant effect that it was now actually possible to cook in the kitchen without worrying about poisoning, and since it is very easy to get used to pleasant things, John soon let Jeremy out of his mind, just as he had after their last match together.

*

John was writing up their latest case – a rather interesting affair where the murder weapon had been a dangerous snake – and he didn’t notice Sherlock approaching him.

“John?”

“Hmm?” John said without lifting his eyes from his blog entry, only half registering Sherlock hovering beside him.

“How does one determine if one is in love?”

John’s head snapped up. This wasn’t even remotely close to what he’d been expecting.

“Is this for a case?” he asked automatically, because a case would be a logical reason for Sherlock to ask strange questions. Except that they weren’t working on anything at the moment, and what was more, Sherlock looked distinctly uncomfortable – he was biting his lower lip and not meeting John’s eye. John wasn’t the consulting detective in the room, but it was clear even to him that there was something suspicious going on.

“Would you answer the question?” Sherlock said curtly, but even his tone of voice betrayed him. He was _nervous._ Sherlock Holmes was nervous and asking John about love. John wondered if he’d fallen asleep at some point and this was just a dream. A very strange dream that possibly indicated that John had gone insane.

“Well,” he began tentatively, “you… you keep thinking about her – or him,” he added quickly, “and you want to be close to them, and want them to be happy, and you like seeing them smile…”

“That’s inconclusive, John,” Sherlock interrupted him sharply. “All these things describe what I feel about you, and I’m not in love with you.”

“It’s not a quantifiable thing, Sherlock,” John sighed, and searched Sherlock’s face for a clue that this was not what it looked like. “You just… know, somehow, that this person is different.” He hesitated for a second, and then asked carefully, “Is there someone you think you might be in love with?”

He expected Sherlock to laugh at him, because that would be a normal, Sherlockian reaction to such a question. Instead, Sherlock finally locked eyes with him and said, “Yes.”

John blinked. “Really?” he asked stupidly, but he was just grateful he hadn’t lost his voice. “Who?”

“Jerry,” Sherlock said, in the same tone that he used to say ‘Of course it wasn’t a suicide, how can you be so blind?’

“Jerry?” John repeated, confused, and then it hit him. “ _Jeremy Matthews?”_

John wondered for a moment if it was supposed to be some sort of joke, but then Sherlock nodded, his eyes sincere, and John knew it was not.

He stared at Sherlock, stunned.

He had known that Sherlock frequently visited Jeremy’s lab, but it never occurred to him that Sherlock could care about Jerry more than he did about Molly, for example. And Sherlock was meant to be married to his work; John had had no idea that he could be interested in someone in this way. He’d thought that sex and relationships were beneath Sherlock.

“Is it really so unbelievable?” Sherlock asked. “That I could care about someone?”

“No, no, of course not,” John said quickly. “I’m just… surprised. I… you never mentioned him.” And Sherlock hadn’t – he only just informed John that he was going to “the lab,” and that was the closest they had ever got to that topic.

Sherlock shrugged. “I didn’t know… that is, I wasn’t really sure…” Sherlock, the most eloquent person on the planet, didn’t finish his sentences. Sherlock thought that he might be in love. With Jeremy Matthews, one of the most unremarkable-looking people John had ever met. John had never given much thought to what sort of people Sherlock might date, because he’d assumed that such people didn’t exist, but if he had considered it, he would have thought Sherlock would choose someone as striking as he was. Jeremy, however, had that sort of plain, ordinary face nobody remembers, and never drew attention to himself. He was brilliant, though, so at least that made sense. Of course Sherlock would want to be with someone with whom he could speak in scientific terms.

“So all those times you went to his lab,” John asked slowly, “they were actually dates?”

“No,” Sherlock said, and then hesitated. “Not really, not at first. Then I… well, I started going there even if I could do the experiment here, and we would have coffee and talk a lot, and – he’s very intelligent, John. His knowledge of plant hormones is unparalleled, he’s an expert in his field, and he enjoys music, he’s not boring at all and… what?”

Sherlock stopped when he noticed John looking at him with a grin on his face. John was smiling because Sherlock was smiling, a new, happy, infatuated smile that John never thought he would see on Sherlock’s face. It suited him.

“You really like him, don’t you?” John said.

Sherlock’s smile broadened. “Yes, I – I think I do.”

“He must like you too, if he lets you call him Jerry. He used to hate that. Does he call you Sherly?” John asked, trying not to laugh at the idea.

“Of course not,” Sherlock said with an affronted expression. “That would be ridiculous.” He fell silent again, looking hesitant. “We’re going for dinner tonight. The first proper date. I thought – I thought maybe you could advise me on what to wear.”

John did laugh then.

“You once told me my fashion sense was atrocious. Do you really want advice from me?”

“You have more experience with what’s appropriate on these occasions. I wouldn’t like to… overdo it, or look shabby, or…”

“Sherlock, you’ve never looked shabby in your life, I really don’t think you need to worry about that. Just put on something you’re comfortable in. I’m sure Jeremy will think you look dashing whatever you wear.”

“You think? Do you really think he could honestly like me?” Sherlock asked, suddenly very serious.

Was Sherlock now going to have self-esteem issues, on top of everything else?

“Of course,” John said and squeezed Sherlock’s forearm. “I don’t know him very well anymore, but he’s always been a decent guy. He wouldn’t just lead you on.”

“Yes, but you know how I am. Most people can’t stand me.”

“And most people don’t invite you to have dinner with them,” John reminded him. This conversation was getting stranger by the minute, and John hoped that his astonishment didn’t show on his face too much. “Judging by the way you speak about him, I don’t think Jeremy is ‘most people,’ is he?”

The corners of Sherlock’s mouth turned upwards again. “No, he isn’t.”

“Don’t worry about it, then, I’m sure it will turn out fine. Do you want me to spend the night at Harry’s?”

Sherlock frowned. “Why would I want that? We won’t be eating here.”

“Yes, but afterwards. You might want, you know. Some privacy.”

“Oh,” Sherlock said, and blushed. He actually blushed. Who’d’ve thought? “I don’t know. I… we’ve only kissed once. I’m not sure how quickly these things are supposed to proceed.”

“As quickly or as slowly as you want,” John said, wondering briefly whether Sherlock had very little experience with relationships, or none at all. “You’ll know when the time is right, and I don’t think Jeremy will rush you. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Sherlock said immediately. John forced himself not to smile at that.

“Just text me if you want the flat empty, okay?”

Sherlock nodded slowly. “It would probably make more sense for us to go to Jerry’s place, since he lives alone. Do you think I should clean my bedroom first, though, just in case?”

It was becoming a bit too much for John. He could come to terms with Sherlock being in love, but Sherlock willingly deciding to clean the flat? That sounded like a sign of the impending apocalypse.

*

Two days later, John decided to have cereal and a banana for breakfast. That should have been straightforward, but as many ought-to-be-simple things in John’s life, it wasn’t. The cereal box was empty, and the banana was… covered by a condom. Which was not the strangest thing John had had to look at first thing in the morning, but it was close.

“Sherlock?” he called, entering the living room. “Is there a logical reason why there is a condom on my breakfast?”

Sherlock looked up from a book he was reading on the sofa.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, looking much less embarrassed than a man in his situation should. “I forgot about that. It was an experiment.”

“An experiment,” John repeated questioningly.

“Well, maybe ‘practice’ would be a more precise term.”

“Practice,” John repeated again, and tried to stop his thoughts from running away in very inappropriate directions. “Sherlock. You know that there are, um. Shops. Where you can buy items that are made especially for… practice.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean _that_ , John, I was merely trying to…”

“Don’t tell me!” John stopped him. “I don’t want to know, okay?”

Sherlock looked at him as if John was being completely unreasonable. Then he shrugged and returned to his book, which, John was surprised to discover, had two shirtless men kissing on the cover and was called _The Joy of Gay Sex._

“Background reading, huh?”

“Yes,” Sherlock answered, making the final sibilant slightly longer than necessary, his tone clearly challenging John to tease and mock him. “My experience in these matters is limited, but it’s important to me that Jerry should find me a satisfactory bed partner. Since you don’t seem very keen on sharing your sexual history, I have to resort to books.”

“You know, you would find out more about what I want or don’t want to share if you just asked,” John said with a smile. This was much more like Sherlock than his self-conscious questions about what to wear. “I don’t mind telling you, but there’s not much. My experience with men amounts to a couple of drunken fumbles ages ago; I can’t really give you any practical advice.” He sits down next to Sherlock. “Just be honest with Jeremy. If you don’t like something, tell him. Don’t stress yourself out with it, it’s not difficult. And first times are hardly ever perfect.”

“It won’t be my first time,” Sherlock said defensively, and then he looked away and added a little hesitantly, “It’s just that I never got very far, and it was all a long time ago.”

Sherlock faced down serial killers and handled potentially explosive substances on a daily basis without blinking an eye, but he felt insecure about something as simple as sex.

“Sherlock,” John said and placed a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “It’ll be fine, trust me. Or rather, trust Jeremy. It’s all it comes down to, really, trust and communication.”

“But that doesn’t ensure that I’ll be… good at it.”

“You’re more likely to be good at it if you stop overanalyzing it,” John said, and Sherlock gave him a doubtful look, as if it was the most unconvincing piece of advice he’d ever heard. Then he sighed and shifted so he could lean against John. It surprised John a little – he’d sort of assumed that, now that Sherlock had a boyfriend, all their touches that stretched the boundaries of what could be called platonic would end, since Sherlock would finally realise that they weren’t entirely appropriate. Apparently that wasn’t the case, and John certainly wasn’t complaining.

“I never thought I’d want to be with anyone,” Sherlock said. “It’s all so… strange.”

“But you like strange, don’t you?” John asked, running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and feeling him lean into the touch. “And you’ll get used to it.”

Sherlock made a noncommittal sound, as if getting used to things was beneath him, and John could plainly see that his advice not to overanalyze was being successfully ignored.

“Can I go and have my breakfast now?” he asked, because as much as he would like to discuss Sherlock’s relationship insecurities, he did have to go to work.

“You can make me toast with honey,” Sherlock allowed him graciously. “And sorry about the banana.”

*

The first time John saw Jeremy after the party was about a week or ten days after the big revelation. John was walking from the tube station after a terrible day at the surgery when he noticed Sherlock and Jeremy on the opposite pavement, approaching from the direction of Regent’s Park. John slowed down, and then stopped completely when the couple came to a halt in front of 221B.

They were standing close to one another, talking, and Sherlock had a slightly moonstruck grin plastered on his face. They talked for some time; John just wished they’d hurry up with their goodbyes so he could go home and have a soothing cup of tea without having to interrupt them.

Jeremy waved his hand apologetically, and John noticed that he was holding a single red rose. John wondered briefly whether Sherlock had also bought a book called ‘How to Be the Perfect Boyfriend’ or something along those lines. Jeremy reached up to give Sherlock a kiss and then made to turn and leave, but Sherlock intercepted him and kissed him again, and then went on kissing him for what felt like three years. John studied the window of the neighbouring chip shop with more attention than it warranted, because it felt almost voyeuristic to continue watching them. When John lifted his eyes again, they were still kissing. John rolled his eyes. If they were planning to spend the evening snogging on the doorstep like teenagers, then John was just going to sneak past them. Chances were they wouldn’t even notice.

Just as John was losing his patience, they broke apart and finally separated. Jeremy noticed John when he started to walk away, and crossed the street towards him. John wasn’t really in the mood for any sort of polite conversation, but Sherlock probably wouldn’t thank him if he was rude to his boyfriend, so John consoled himself with thoughts of tea and telly and did his best. Jeremy thanked him profusely for having been invited to the party, enquired about Harry and then said, a bit awkwardly, “Sherlock talks about you a lot. You two seem very close.”

“We are,” John agreed slowly and hoped that this wasn’t a prelude to a jealous fit, because he really didn’t want to deal with that right now. Or at any other time, for that matter.

“I just wanted to make sure that I’m not stepping on your toes or something.”

John assured him that that really wasn’t the case, but it was the first time he started to wonder whether the closeness of his relationship with Sherlock would at some point become a problem.

It didn’t help that, when the word got ‘round that Sherlock was seeing someone, everybody they knew seemed to think Sherlock had either broken up with John or callously rejected him and quickly found someone else to drive him off.

Sally came to John and said gravely, “I told you to stay away from him.” Lestrade kept giving him concerned looks. Harry almost had a heart attack when she found out that Sherlock and “John’s rival” had met at the party she’d organised. Mrs Hudson scowled at Sherlock and patted John’s arm sympathetically, praising that he continued to live with Sherlock even though he had broken his heart, and when John tried to assure her that his heart really wasn’t broken at all, she took it to mean that he, Sherlock and Jeremy were now in a three-way relationship, at which point John gave up and decided to let everyone think what they would. He just really had to find a girlfriend, so people would stop assuming – and also because living with Sherlock in love made being single seem like the worst fate on earth.

*

Everyone who met Sherlock on his way home after the first time he and Jeremy had sex had to know what happened. Not because Sherlock would talk about it, but because he was positively _glowing_. There were the obvious signs like the fact that his hair was tousled and he’d failed to button up his shirt properly (which was a first, since Sherlock hated to look less than perfect. Unless, of course, he was bored and in one of his “I’ll let myself go and that’ll show you” moods), but John wouldn’t have needed to be a detective to be able to tell even without those, because every cell of Sherlock’s body seemed to be screaming “I’ve just had mind-blowing sex.” (Or possibly not mind-blowing, because Sherlock probably still valued his mind too much to appreciate having it blown.)

John was trying to have a quiet evening with a book when Sherlock came home, all giddy excitement. Since John, unlike Sherlock, was aware that sometimes it was tactful to keep your deductions to yourself, he was content to lift his eyebrows knowingly and smile.

Of course, he should have known that Sherlock would want to talk about it.

“John,” he said, taking John’s book from his hands and dropped it on the coffee table without giving John the chance to mark the page. He always did that. “I wanted to thank you.”

John was left momentarily speechless, since this was about the third time in his life that Sherlock had thanked him.

“Um, you’re welcome?” John said carefully. “What for?”

“Everything.” He sat down next to John, his eyes shining. “What you said about sex, partly. I admit that I was a little nervous, I kept thinking about what I’d read, ‘don’t do this, make sure to do that’, but then I remembered what you said, not to think about it too much and trust Jerry and I – and I did, and then it was… perfect.” He looked like he wanted to continue, but couldn’t find the words.

“I’m glad to hear that, Sherlock, but you know that it wasn’t actually thanks to _me_.”

“Yes, obviously, but John, don’t you realise that I couldn’t have had this without you? I used to think that it was all just a waste of time, before. If I’d met Jerry before I met you, I would have just dismissed him as a distraction. You’re the one who taught me to care.”

“You’ve always cared, Sherlock, you just liked to pretend you didn’t,” John told him, because he knew it was true.

Sherlock shook his head. “You’ve always had too high an opinion of me. I’m not going to repeat this, but it’s true. You’ve made me a better person, and I’m… happy.”

“I’m so glad you are,” John said, and pulled Sherlock into a hug. It was strange to be so close to someone who smelled faintly of sex with somebody else, but it wasn’t unpleasant, because underneath it John could still smell Sherlock, the intensely familiar scent that made him relax and feel inexplicably safe. A kind of relief settled over him; he realised that, until now, he’d been a little worried that he would somehow lose his place in Sherlock’s life, now that Sherlock had Jerry. It had been stupid to think that; John meant as much to Sherlock as Sherlock did to him, how had he managed to forget that?

“We have to go,” Sherlock whispered into his hair.

“Where?” John groaned. So much for his quiet night in.

“Crime scene, of course. Lestrade called.”

John pulled away.

“Did you leave Jeremy because of a case?”

“Of course I didn’t. He had rugby practice anyway, and Lestrade only called when I was on my way here. I wanted to speak to you first, and I need a shower. Be ready in fifteen minutes. Anderson has probably ruined all the evidence anyway, but I don’t want to lose any more time.”

*

“I hope you don’t have anything planned for today,” Sherlock said one Saturday morning.

John looked up from his breakfast, surprised. Sherlock never asked about John’s plans, he just changed them.

“Why?” he asked cautiously.

“Jerry’s team has an important match today, and apparently as his partner I’m supposed to be there to offer my support. I expect it will be dreadfully dull, so I was hoping you’d keep me company.”

John tried not to laugh at the idea of Sherlock in his neatly pressed shirt at a rugby match and agreed to go, because someone had to save the poor audience from Sherlock’s inevitable fit of boredom.

In the end, it wasn’t quite so dramatic. Sherlock started by deducing the lives of everyone he could see, continued with complaining about the stupidity of rugby rules and team sports in general (what was the point of watching ridiculously dressed men getting covered in mud, anyway?) and ended with a tirade about how rugby was terribly violent and dangerous and clearly had no place in a civilized society. Then he was mostly silent, his eyes anxiously tracking Jeremy on the pitch, only occasionally muttering under his breath about what injuries Jeremy could sustain and how he really shouldn’t run such unnecessary risks. John secretly thought it was rather endearing.

It was a good game, although Jeremy’s team lost, which Sherlock didn’t notice at first and then declared to be a blatant injustice, since any team with Jeremy in it logically had to win. John decided that it would be safer not to argue about that.

“You were amazing,” Sherlock announced when Jeremy joined them at the side of the pitch.

“You know nothing about it,” Jeremy laughed, but he was obviously pleased.

“You’re amazing ninety-eight percent of the time, so it’s statistically likely that you were amazing even at this nonsensical game,” Sherlock said with a fond smile.

“Was it very boring?”

“Looking at you is never boring.”

John decided to pretend he wasn’t there, and turned to look at a girl with nice long legs at the other side of the pitch. Then he noticed that the girl was just greeting Jeremy’s teammate who had to be her father and who couldn’t be much older than John, which made John feel like an old pervert. It didn’t help that next to him Sherlock and Jeremy were currently behaving like a pair of lovesick sixteen-year-olds.

John _really_ had to get himself a girlfriend.

Sherlock’s phone rang, and he went to take the call further away from the crowd.

“I can’t believe he really came,” Jeremy told John, without taking his eyes from Sherlock. “I thought he was joking when he suggested it.”

“He suggested it? I thought you’d invited him.”

Sherlock _offered_ to attend a rugby match? Must be love.

Jeremy shook his head. “It wouldn’t have occurred to me to ask him. I thought it would bore him to death.” Judging by the awed expression he wore, it wasn’t only rugby he expected Sherlock to be bored with. John could well imagine that Jeremy found it hard to believe Sherlock was still with him – Sherlock’s attention span on anything that wasn’t a complex case was very short, and John remembered times at the beginning when he’d thought Sherlock would become fed up with his company any moment.

“John, we have a client,” Sherlock said, and John could hear the excited edge of a new case in his voice; it made his spine tingle with anticipation.

Sherlock turned to Jeremy. “I’ll take you out for dinner, all right? I’m sorry I have to leave so soon, but it’s a case.”

“It’s fine,” Jeremy said. “Just be careful, okay?”

“John’s got my back,” Sherlock said, as if it meant he didn’t have to be careful, and he bowed his head to give Jeremy a kiss, keeping distance between their bodies so mud wouldn’t get on his shirt.

The client turned out to be a young woman whose father was missing. Her name was Mary Morstan, and she had the prettiest smile John had ever seen. The whole case took several days to solve, during which John had plentiful opportunities to discover that just about everything about Mary was very pretty. She was also funny and fearless and seemed about as far from wanting to settle down and have children as possible, and so the best part of the case for John was when he and Mary celebrated its conclusion by having fairly spectacular sex on Mary’s sitting room floor, since the sofa was too small and the bed was too far.

“I hope Mary’s carpet was comfortable,” Sherlock remarked when John came home, barely lifting his eyes from his laptop.

“Very,” said John. He wasn’t going to ask how Sherlock deduced that.

“Are you going to see her again?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes,” John grinned. It felt wonderful to know there was a beautiful woman who was interested in him even though he was ten years older than her, after being alone for months.

“That’s good,” Sherlock said, and it sounded sincere enough to be suspicious. Sherlock had never had much interest in John’s (admittedly mostly non-existent) love life. John raised his eyebrows.

“We can go on double dates now,” Sherlock explained, and that was even more suspicious, because Sherlock hated any sort of social occasion.

“You want to go on double dates?”

“I like spending time with both you and Jerry, but if it’s just the three of us you feel like you’re intruding.” John didn’t argue with that, since it was mostly true, but there were also times when he felt like it was Jeremy who was intruding. “Now this problem is solved, and Mary is less stupid than your previous entanglements.”

“What a breathtaking compliment,” John said. He fully expected Sherlock to forget about the double date nonsense, but he didn’t, and two weeks later the four of them had dinner at a French restaurant. John wasn’t sure if it was a very good idea, but in the end it wasn’t so bad.

It was mostly thanks to Mary, who had a warm and welcoming personality and managed to ignore Sherlock’s less-than-tactful remarks and coax the rather reserved Jeremy out of his shell. It didn’t last long, though, because Lestrade called, as was wont to happen, and a double date couldn’t possibly be as interesting as a double murder.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Sherlock told Jeremy in a low purr, and proceeded to kiss him in a way that made people at other tables blush and avert their gazes, and the quick peck John had given Mary suddenly seemed dreadfully inadequate.

John felt bad about leaving Mary and Jeremy on their own when they barely knew each other, but he couldn’t do anything about it, since Sherlock took him by the elbow and dragged him away without further ado. He needn’t have worried, though, because as Mary assured him when they lay in bed the next day, she and Jeremy had found topics to talk about.

“You and Sherlock,” she clarified, playing with John’s chest hair. “It was very… enlightening.”

“Enlightening,” John repeated, a vague sense of foreboding setting in his stomach.

“Hmm,” Mary agreed, dropping a kiss on John’s shoulder and then looking up at him. “I think he was trying to save me from having my heart broken or something. It was rather sweet. He said I’d need nerves of steel and lots of patience, because apparently you and Sherlock are some sort of platonic soul mates and nothing can come between you.”

John said nothing, because what could you say to something like that?

“Hey, relax,” Mary poked him in the ribs when she noticed his muscles had gone tense. “I haven’t got the slightest intention of coming between anybody, and whatever’s between you two is none of my business.”

John wanted to snap that there was _nothing_ between Sherlock and him, and would everyone kindly stop assuming, but that was about as far from the truth as possible. There was most definitely something between them, except that it wasn’t what people usually meant by that expression, it wasn’t something that Mary could understand, that anyone could understand. There was no word for it, no definition that would fit.

His relationship with Sarah had ended because she couldn’t get it, because she’d wanted a place in his life he couldn’t – wouldn’t – give her. It wouldn’t be the same with Mary; they’d been honest with each other from the beginning and it was clear that there would be no strings attached. Things were different between Sherlock and Jeremy, though. Jeremy had always been friendly towards John, but how long could his “nerves of steel and lots of patience” last? The most important thing in Sherlock’s life was his work, and John was a part of it, which gave him an advantage that couldn’t seem fair to Jeremy.

And Jeremy wasn’t even aware of the physical aspect of Sherlock and John’s friendship. He didn’t know about the cuddles on the sofa and kisses carefully pressed on foreheads, not because they would deliberately hide them, but because they were theirs, private, and it would never occur to either of them to speak about it, or do it in front of someone else.

Until the day when Sherlock broke his ankle and was being the world’s worst patient, like he always was. He moaned and complained for about two hours, ordered John to text Jeremy to come over immediately, and then promptly fell asleep with his head in John’s lap, which was how Jeremy found them.

Apart from a small wrinkle that appeared between his eyebrows, Jeremy didn’t really let it show that anything about the situation bothered him, though it must have. Especially when John tried to get up and Sherlock gripped his jumper and didn’t let him, burying his face in John’s belly, and it was obvious that he wasn’t sleeping like that for the first time.

When Sherlock woke up, Jeremy knelt in front of him to stroke his face, and his and John’s fingers met in Sherlock’s hair. John withdrew his hand immediately, but Jeremy didn’t look at him for the rest of the day.

*

Two days later, when John came home from the surgery, he found Sherlock sitting on the sofa with his hands in the praying position he always adopted when thinking. There was something about the set of his jaw that told John he wasn’t thinking about a new case.

“Jerry asked me to move in with him,” he said, without looking up at John.

“Oh,” John said very helpfully. It shouldn’t have surprised him so much – Sherlock spent about two nights a week at Jeremy’s anyway, and taking Sherlock away from John would be the most obvious way for Jeremy to stake his claim.

“I said I needed time to think about it,” Sherlock continued and lifted his eyes to John’s. “Should I?”

“I can’t decide that for you,” said John, instead of the “no” he really meant. Sherlock and Jeremy were in love; it would only make sense for them to live together. John couldn’t stop them just because it ruined the plans he hadn’t realised he’d made. Living with a friend was always just a temporary arrangement, and the fact that Sherlock and John were so much more than that didn’t really change that.

“If Mary asked you, would you?”

“She wouldn’t,” John said. “We’re just casual.”

Sherlock sighed. “It’s what couples do, isn’t it? They live together.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I really like living with you.”

“You’d like living with him, too.”

“Yes, probably, but I… I don’t think I want to.” Sherlock stood up, keeping all his weight awkwardly on one foot. John automatically stepped closer to support him. “I don’t want to lose what we have.”

“You wouldn’t. We’ll still be friends, even if you live elsewhere.”

“But it would be different,” Sherlock said intently, clutching John’s shoulder. “It would be… less. I wish he hadn’t asked me. I don’t want things to change, but they will, because if I say no, Jerry will eventually find someone else, and if I say yes…”

He fell silent, his gaze piercing John like a knife, and he just looked at him for a moment, as if he could see straight into John’s soul and as if the answer was written somewhere deep inside it.

“I can’t say yes,” Sherlock breathed, and a wave of indescribable relief crashed over John.

“Then don’t,” he whispered, gripping the collar of Sherlock’s shirt and pulling him close. “Don’t.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and rested his forehead against John’s.

“What is this, John?” he asked, his breathing shallow. “If we were just friends, moving away wouldn’t matter. What are we?”

“I don’t know. We’re… us.”

They stood like that for a while, holding onto each other, until Sherlock straightened up suddenly.

“I must speak to Jerry,” he said. “I must… I must try to make him understand. I won’t let him go without a fight.”

John smiled, his inexplicable affection for Sherlock swelling inside him. He was going to spend the rest of his life with this man, and the knowledge warmed him like afternoon sun.

“You certainly shouldn’t.”


End file.
